Fleeting Photograph
by SacredAir
Summary: Tag for 7x13 'Jetlag' Why did Tony take that photograph? TIVA


**Well, of course, I watched 'Jetlag', and this just begged to be written. I'm a hardcore Tiva shipper, and as that episode was…just….AMAZING, you may find me writing another one-shot in the near future :) **

**Also, to those who read any of my other fics *hides* Don't kill me! I know I haven't updated my multi-chapter fic…. *flails* I will try to get onto that ASAP. At the moment I am very tied down with exams, and this was only written because it was literally keeping me up at night. Plus, it's my birthday. Screw work on my birthday!**

**Enjoy! And please review and tell me what you think :)**

He didn't know what had possessed him to take it. She had already warned him of the consequences of attempting to catch her unawares as soon as he had unzipped the camera case to take his first photograph of their stay. Consequences which involved bodily harm and various domestic appliances found in their small, _shared_, hotel room. Of course, he had grinned, happy to see her 'severely pissed off' look ('cause, y'know secretly, he found it sexy) and had replied, somewhat cockily,'Oh, but I'll be sneaky, Ziva. You gotta be sneaky, around ninjas.'

That had earned him slap upside the back of his head.

They had arrived at the hotel. They had discovered, to their absolute horror/shock/whatever the hell that weird jumpy feeling they felt in their guts was – that they had to share a room. And a bed. They had decided, whilst eyeing each other cautiously from opposite ends of the room, that they were adults, and they could share, because sharing a bed didn't mean anything would happen.

He hadn't really been prepared for the night that followed, watching his companion writhe in the grip of the phantom agony which haunted her in her dreams. Spending the majority of the night trying to calm her, whilst her nightmares swept her away. Watching as, at the break of dawn, she let out a long, rattling sigh, and wrapped her hands softly around his arm.

It had been the morning after that. She had had no recognition of what had happened during the night – either that or the more plausible explanation of her not being ready to admit it, and had slunk off, muttering something about 'the tourist shop' and 'next to the café'. He –being the gentleman that he was – started to get his wallet out, whilst trying to catch the eye of the young waiter that seemed to be sprinting from table to table.

And right then, just as he was about to get up and haul the waiter's ass back to their table – right then. That was when he saw her.

It was such a common thing to observe. People look at postcards all the time, and could spend hours doing so. Yet – this was different. This was Ziva. Looking at postcards. Anyone who didn't know her would say that she was on vacation. But Ziva had never looked like this.

Without a care in this world.

Before he knew it, his fingers were undoing the camera case, and he had flicked the power button on. Acting quickly ('cause the woman's sixth sense would surely reveal is intentions soon) he lifted the camera up, looked at the subject matter and-

Oh.

She'd turned around. Looking indecisive, her beautiful face contorted into a thoughtful expression, swirling dark curls wafting in the breeze.

Perhaps she was deciding which card to send to the team back in D.C.

Perhaps she had just remembered something, an item that a friend had asked her to get.

Perhaps, she was wondering whether it was the right thing to do. To look at postcards without a care in the world. Even if it was only for two minutes. She wasn't used to doing these things. For her, it was much more natural to take a knife to someone's throat.

His heart broke a little as he took the photograph.

But he got _that feeling_ in his gut, too. So he smiled, giving the waiter the money, and left to catch up with his partner.

'_Maybe it's 'cause I'm in love, but I don't think people are bad at heart.'_

He had turned away from Nora, smiling at her comment, as his eyes focused on the woman in the seat opposite from him. He wondered if it was really that strange, that half a year ago she had almost killed him, and he wouldn't have cared. If it was that weird, that they had been through hell and back, dark demons cutting away at the many ties that had held them together, and had still managed to hang onto each other by one little string. If it was such an incomprehensible thing that those broken bonds had begun to mend.

As he slinks away from her desk, making a mental note to send an edited black and white version of the photograph to her, he glances again at the picture, of which he has memorized every detail.

He only has eyes for that slight smile on the woman's face.

Perhaps she knows that everything, no matter how screwed up it had gotten, was slowly falling back into place.

She gives him a confused grin as he sits back in his chair and sighs contentedly.

'What?'

He smiles. 'Nothing!'

It would take time. But it was worth it.

(Maybe it's cause he's in love. But he won't admit that just yet.)

**How was it? Let me know what you thought :)**


End file.
